


Puma Concolor

by the_last_dillards



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassian Liberation Front, F/M, Mila's basement, Morning After, late season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: What goes on in the basement the morning after Damar accepts an offer from Mila to take the other half of her awfully large bed.
Relationships: Mila Garak/Damar
Comments: 36
Kudos: 49





	Puma Concolor

**Author's Note:**

> You know I had to do it to ‘em.

Garak was acting strange.

Stranger than usual, that was. Kira hated to acknowledge it, but in the months that they’d spent in near constant proximity of each other—eating, sleeping, bathing, and everything else in the same spaces—she’d come to anticipate his little habits and moods.

She watched from her cot as he picked up pieces of clutter they’d yet to finish squaring away, looking them over and then putting them down abruptly. It was getting on her nerves.

It didn’t help that what little sleep she had gotten the night before was fitful at best. Garak had spent the entire time on the computer, tapping away, dim screen managing to illuminate the entire cavernous cellar. But in truth, he was only partly to blame. Even if Garak hadn’t been up, letting the world know his tumult, Kira wasn’t sure how well she would’ve slept.

For one thing, there’d been the banging coming from upstairs.

She tried not to think about that too much even now. Didn’t want her mind to wander to the natural assumptions of what might've been making that noise based on the progression of events that had taken place earlier the past evening.

Mila had come downstairs as they were all settling in for the night as she always did. She collected their bowls, and as often happened, she stayed for a chat. 

Kira hadn’t known her long but already she’d found herself growing attached to the amiable if sharp tongued old woman, like the mother figure she’d never had. She felt bad for her, living alone in this big empty house for so long. Why Mila was even still here confused her. If this had been Tain’s house and Tain was long dead, his heir in exile, why hadn’t it been given to another next of kin or repossessed by the Cardassian government? Who was continuing to pay Mila’s salary? And why did she bother to keep a house no one but her lived in?

That didn’t matter. What mattered was that it all sounded very lonely, very quiet. A depressing, meaningless cycle to be trapped in. So it was all very logical that she would take advantage of the company.

Ever the good host, Mila had finished off the conversation by graciously asking if there was anything she could get them before she went up for the night. 

To which, Damar had responded, “A comfortable bed.”

Kira had thought Mila was ready to smack him upside the head, and Mila had responded just as sharply as if she had given the Legate the wallop he deserved. From there, it had all devolved into a heated argument over proper back support and lumpy mattresses. Garak attempted several times to intervene but to no avail. Kira opted to stay out of the matter altogether. Then the fight ended just as suddenly as it had started, with Mila announcing that her bed was very large and that if Damar wanted a decent mattress, he was certainly welcome to try it out for the night.

Kira’s jaw had dropped. 

But Damar hadn’t been fazed in the slightest and followed Mila right on up the stairs and disappeared, never to be seen again.

The silence that had followed was awkward. She and Garak finished getting themselves ready for bed, both in quiet agreement not to acknowledge what had just happened before their very eyes. Kira had laid down and pulled her blanket over herself, trying to imagine a peaceful flowing brook to help lull her into a peaceful slumber.

That’s when the noises had started. Thuds, bangs, and creaking floorboards immediately above them. 

She’d tried to ignore it. Used every meditative technique she knew and gave silent prayers in her effort not to think about the banging and what was likely causing it. Eventually, she'd given up and stolen Damar’s pillow from his cot, using it to cover her ears. It had helped. Some. 

Shortly after, Garak had gotten up to work on the computer. 

It’d felt like far longer than it actually had been when the noises finally stopped. But even in their absence, they continued to haunted her. In tandem with Garak and his ruckus, sleep had been a nearly futile endeavor.

So now Kira felt tired and crabby, and whatever funk Garak was in wasn’t helping. This wasn’t his usual bad mood after a sleepless night, full of snark and whining. His lack of commentary spoke volumes. There was something else going on here.

Finally, she called over, making a wild attempt at guessing what specifically about this situation had gotten under Garak’s scales. “Look, I agree that it’s all a little weird but they’re both grown adults, and this doesn’t seem like it’s Mila’s first time around the block. I’m sure he’s not going to break her heart.”

Garak huffed. “It’s not Mila you should be concerned for.”

Probably not, based on what Kira had seen. Mila seemed more than capable of managing herself.

Unbidden, an old human word popped into her head. _Maneater._ Jadzia had taught it to her once a long time ago after they’d both had more than a few drinks. Kira swept that thought away, not particularly keen to think about either her lost friend or the implications the term brought into her mind.

“Damar then. Look, sometimes people get a little restless when they’re in close quarters and holed up somewhere for a longtime. Odd couples happened all the time in the Bajoran resistance.”

“Maybe, but Mila is hardly living in the basement with us. There was no excuse for her to come down here and make such a blatant invitation like that, especially in front of us. And Damar had no business accepting it.”

He had a point. There was a reason they were all in the basement and not up in any of the guest rooms. They couldn’t afford to have the upstairs looking like multiple people were in the house. Damar should’ve turned her down. But what was done was done.

“It’s just one night, Garak,” and as she said it, Kira felt more like she was reassuring herself than her companion. “Look, I’ll talk to Damar once he’s back. But in hindsight, it really isn't that surprising. It seems like Mila’s been alone for a while now, and you know a woman has...needs.”

“Well, she should’ve kept them to herself.”

Kira tilted her head towards the ceiling, sending out prayers for guidance. Garak’s refusal to calm down was getting on her nerves. “Why do you care so much anyways? You’re not jealous, are you?”

She doubted it, but the accusation might just be enough to force some sense into him.

Garak put down a piece of clutter with a sharp clack. “Hah! I hope it's jealousy of Mila you're implying. In which case, no. Damar may be a handsome enough specimen but he’s hardly worth the time or effort.”

 _“Damar?”_ Kira scoffed. “Bring him a bottle of kanar, and he’d probably drop to his knees right then and there.”

A voice answered from the top of the stairs, “It’d need to be at least a 2326 vintage for _that,_ Commander.”

Damar swaggered down the basement steps, letting the door swing shut behind him and looking for all the world like a man who’d just gotten laid. In his hands was a tray stacked with cups and bowls—their breakfast.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” he added when he reached the bottom.

Kira responded, “Without your snoring to keep me up all night? I slept like a babe.”

“Oh, so you just held my pillow close to you as a reminder of my presence instead then?”

He tilted his head over to where his pillow was still sitting on Kira’s cot and added, “We can always move our beds closer together if you’d like, Commander.”

It was Garak who responded. “Did Mila truly find you so lacking that she already informed you that you wouldn’t be invited back?” 

He was pointedly refusing to look at Damar, still focused on his pile of junk.

Damar set the tray down and picked up one of the bowls. He leaned against the table, using his fingers to pick up some sort of seed and plop it into his mouth, munching cheerfully.

Kira curiously watched them interact.

“Caution dictates spontaneity. I can make no assumptions.”

“How enlightened.”

“Don’t you want to hear how I spent my evening, Garak?”

At that, Garak set down whatever was in his hands and turned around. “Let me guess, Mila had you clean out the attic and fix the replicator before she let you beg to sleep at the foot of her bed. The fool is you for agreeing to such an arrangement.”

Damar tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Not a bad guess. She did need someone to help her move furniture around, and then someone to give her a scalp massage and help her finish off a shed.” He took a pause to drop another seed in his mouth, crunching it loudly before continuing, “And afterwards, she took me to bed. A very demanding woman. Knows what she wants. I like that.”

Kira was caught between relief and discomfort at this new information. Moving furniture was at least a palatable explanation for the racket. But for the rest of it, she desperately tried to dispel the images that had been forced upon her mind; Mila with her long hair down, flakes of peeled scale throughout it, while Damar ran a comb through the long strands, picking the pieces out, and later, Mila making her ‘demands’ on Damar...

Kira gestured to the tray piled with bowls, ready to change the subject. “Are we going to eat or just talk about your love affair with an older woman here?”

Damar shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Kira left her cot and made her way over to examine the assortment they’d been given. Aside from the few snack foods, she noted that there was only two of everything for what appeared to be their actual breakfast. She gave Damar a questioning look, and he shrugged.

“I already ate.”

Kira chose not to comment, instead calling over to Garak who had gone back to pretending to work on the clutter.

“Garak, are you having any?”

“No, I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”

She gave Damar an ever suffering look. 

Garak really was in a strange and particularly crotchety mood. Yes, watching Damar and Mila flirt and hook up, paired with last night’s noises had been disturbing, but Garak’s attitude outweighed it all. He was acting like a child whose mother had denied him an outing to the fair. 

A child. 

_No._

The realization came to Kira all at once—blue eyes, rare for Cardassians; the familial bickering; similar facial expressions; why Tain’s housekeeper had remained even after he had long been gone.

Kira picked up a bowl for Garak anyways and made her way over to his clutter with it. She sidled up beside him, finding a flat surface to set the bowl down on. Garak opened his mouth to complain but Kira beat him to it.

“Garak,” she whispered sympathetically. “Mila’s your mother, isn’t she?”

There was a barking laugh behind them, and they turned. Damar had followed her, bowl of seeds still in hand.

“Your father was a lucky man,” he chuckled.

Garak glared at them both.

“I never said that Commander’s wild accusations were anything near true. My _mother,_ as it were, was a fellow Obsidian Order agent to Tain who ended up in an arranged marriage with him as they attempted to create a new generation of operatives, bred and raised specifically for the job.”

Damar gave him a pitying look. “If Mila was your mother, Tain could never have acknowledged you. Officially, he should have had you both killed. Or at least, thrown you out onto the streets. Besides, I can see the resemblance, Blue Eyes.” 

The last remark was a teasing one. _Blue Eyes_ was something many of the other members of their cell had taken to referring to Garak by, mostly outside of his hearing range. Whatever the specific connotations were was lost on Kira but she got the sense that the nickname was a bawdy one.

Garak scowled at him, and Kira took it upon herself to try lightening the room’s mood.

“You know, I think he’s right, Garak. There is some resemblance. I always thought you were a bit of a _yel’zat._ Now I know where you get it.” She added on, repeating an old Bajoran saying, _“The river carries the same waters flowing into it.”_

Not even Damar laughed. Instead, she received blank looks in return.

“A _yel’zat_? An older person who pursues relationships with those significantly younger than them,” she explained awkwardly. 

Garak rolled his eyes. “Believe what you will, Major, but I was not involved with Ziyal that way.”

“I wasn’t talking about Ziyal.”

Damar snapped his fingers. “Now that you mention it, I don't think I recall Tain ever quite reaching Mila’s age. I think you’re onto something, Commander. It runs in the family.”

Garak scoffed, setting down the item in his hand sharply. “I don’t need to listen to your suppositions. I’m going upstairs to ask Mila if she needs anything done. Then maybe next time, she won’t have to impose on your good company.”

“Next time, Garak, I’ll be sure to get permission from Mila’s closest of kin before I accept an invite into your mother’s bed.”

“Well, good luck finding them,” he replied haughty.

With that Garak stalked up the stairs and disappeared through it. There was no door slam—he was far too well trained to go around making unnecessary noise—but Kira could feel the ghost of where one would’ve been regardless.

“I hope we didn’t push him too hard,” she said, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty.

Damar popped another seed into his mouth and meandered back over to the table where he plopped himself down into a chair. “He’ll get over it. It's not as if he’s in a position to complain about how an elder chooses to conduct her business. If anything, he’s the one who ought to be ashamed. Taking a lover while living on that Federaji station—I doubt _he_ consulted any older relatives for permission.”

“I doubt you do that either. Especially last night,” Kira couldn’t help but to point out.

She followed Damar and sat across from him, taking the bowl she had grabbed for Garak for herself.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them. In this case at least.”

“Did you really sleep with her?” 

It was totally possible that Damar had made it up, somehow correctly guessing that it would rile Garak up. As the days of hiding stretched on, they’d all grown restless in their captivity, and Garak and Damar periodically took turns purposely annoying her and each other. It reminded Kira of when she was young, back when her brothers had still been alive and the camp was occasionally put under lockdown for seemingly no reason. Bored, they’d poked and prodded each other, winding each other up until their father had had to step in.

“Of course I did. Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I’m just...surprised. I wouldn’t have thought Mila would be your type,” she clarified.

Damar looked confused. “Why wouldn’t she be? A woman of experience, grace and dignity with the disposition of a wild _alUp’rhem?_ You should be more surprised that she would want to lower herself to entertaining a prospectless fugitive such as myself.”

“Yeah, who would want to do that?”

Damar ignored the jibe, continuing on, “Maybe, after we rid ourselves of the Dominion parasite, I’ll ask her to lunch. Offer my opinion on her cooking.”

“Lunch. You want to ask Mila to lunch?”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Wait, wait. Lunch is...for Cardassians, lunch is big. That’s a courting gesture.”

Kira didn’t know all the fine details of Cardassian culture or interpersonal relations but she’d been watching them long enough to have picked up on that particular aspect. An one-on-one lunch held a certain amount of gravity to it, taking time out of the middle of one’s day specifically to meet up and brush minds.

“It is.”

“Garak’s going to throw a fit.” 

Damar leaned back in his chair, tossing a seed and catching it in his mouth. “He’ll have to deal with it.”

A grin spread across Kira's face and she leaned in, channeling the appreciation for gossip that Jadzia had instilled in her.

“So, tell me more about what it is you like about Mila.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then Mila and Damar both survive and get together for reals, and Garak ends up with half-siblings.
> 
> Kudos and comments feed the machine that produces these monstrosities.


End file.
